Page 21 of Wicked Duty
“I just did.” My lip quirks, but I resist the urge to smile and piss her off more. “You need to realize the danger you’re in. I know you don’t like the idea of sharing your space with me, but we might as well make the best of it.”
She mumbles something I can’t quite decipher and then carefully schools her face into a blank slate. “It goes without saying you’re not to step foot in my bedroom under any circumstances.”
My jaw tenses at the implication. “Trust me, sweetheart, I have no interest in entering your bedroom unless I need to for security purposes.”
She huffs and glances away. “I seriously doubt someone will be in there waiting to kill me, Batman.”
I shrug and set my duffel on the floor. “Fine, suit yourself. I have no doubt you’ll be screaming for me if something happens anyway. Just like you did with the rat.”
Her nose wrinkles like she smells something foul. “You’re so full of yourself.”
“Or,” I step closer, smug satisfaction oozing through me as she retreats to maintain the distance between us, “maybe you’ll be screaming my name for a different reason.”
Lucy’s gorgeous eyes widen. “What…are you kidding me? You’re disgusting! Keep this up, and I’ll complain to Veronika about your unprofessionalism.”
I smooth my shirt. I mean, she’s not wrong. I’ve never behaved this unprofessionally in my life. She’s also bluffing. I already know Lucy well enough to realize she’s not one to go crying to others for help. She’ll push back, see if she can force me to cave first.
I’ve won this round, so I’ll stop poking her. For now.
“Relax, princess.” I turn around to kick off my boots. “Shouldn’t you be getting your beauty sleep?”
Her eyes narrow. I’m glad I can’t read whatever vicious thoughts are cycling through her head.
When the smirk appears, a wave of uneasiness floods me.
“Maya’s room is also off limits.” Lucy jerks her chin toward the tiny loveseat opposite her television set. “You can take the couch.” She grins.
I glance at the couch in question and utter a mental curse. To fit myself on that thing, I’d need to become a contortionist.
Lucy flounces off to her room while I tip my head back and stare at the ceiling.
This assignment just keeps getting better and better.
Chapter 7
Lucy
Bleary-eyed and tired from fighting my comforter all night, I stumble out of my room at a little before seven in the morning to find Callum in the kitchenette, fussing with the coffee maker.
He stretches his thick neck. Crackling and popping follow.
I’m starting to think he waits for me to get up before he does that, as a way of laying on the guilt over the fact that he’s slept on the floor for five whole nights.
A twinge of something that resembled guilt did stab me when I woke that first night to grab some water and caught sight of his hulking frame camped out on the living room floor. Then I remembered how much he aggravates me, and the guilt instantly vanished.
Forget the couch. My entire apartmentis too small for him.
Cohabiting with this man hasn’t been easy. He fills the entire space with his massive everything. His body. His presence. His freakingscent.
Worst of all, the need for his services reminds me of things I want to forget.
Hell, his constant presence frayed my nerves even before he started shacking up in my apartment. Am I supposed to feel safe with a six-foot-two killing machine sleeping in the next room?
Callum’s quiet vigilance protects me. And imprisons me. And though I have to admit this is the safest I’ve felt sincebefore, I’m still not okay. Quite the opposite.
He’s completely sabotaged my routine.
I can’t do anything—and I do meananything—without him getting in my way and screwing it up somehow.
